Little Victories
by CharlieSchulz
Summary: A first kiss, an odd couple, a series of things that don't amount to much, but were incredibly fun to write.
1. A First Kiss

_This was written for something called "seblaine week" on tumblr. _

The grey, knitted beanie is slung low over Sebastian's hair, warming his ears from the slight nip in the Ohio air. The pale green cardigan that he had haphazardly thrown over a blue t-shirt has ridden up his back a little, exposing the skin there to goose bumps.

But, for reasons that Sebastian wishes and prays and begs for, he doesn't seem to care.

The raincoat Blaine has over his shoulders is yellow, incredibly bright at that, with a brief striped interior of red that can barely be seen from where one hand is resting in his pocket. The rolled up, grey, borderline horrible sweats he had put on before his quick glance out the window minutes before, are rubbing against Sebastian's jeans every time they take a breath.

But, and _god_ Blaine wants to just die when he thinks of how corny it is to think this, he never wants to stop breathing in Sebastian.

Their hands rest on the strip of curb in between them, intertwined and stroking and warming.

This is new to both of them, something they aren't used to – beginnings. This could start, this could end, this could take off like wildfire, this could burn, this could fizzle, this could pop, this could flop, this could be anything and everything andBlainehas never been more terrified.

Sebastian, who inches closer to the smaller boy with a slight smirk on his daring face, has waited too long for this not to happen.

It needs to happen. It begs to happen.

They share a soft smile and then Blaine ducks his head, eyeing the driveway to his left with great interest instead. If his eyes followed along the paved road, past the garden and the silver Mercedes and the winding porch, he might have seen his sturdy bloke of a father staring at them with blatant interest from the bay window.

But he doesn't look. Instead, he just trains his eyes back on Sebastian, grinning at the other boy's hungry look.

_Please Blaine?_ and they're so close now, hands still knitted tightly but resting over Sebastian's knee now, harmless and sweet and just a little sweaty. The waters have been tested over and over, but they won't stop being hesitant until the moment it happens, until everything comes round full circle, until their lips meet and this becomes something.

Blaine's answer is in his small hand's movements - escaping from the tender warmth of his pocket to run gentle over his own pants. It twitches, drums, and then moves towards Sebastian's neck.

The skin there is cool, and absolutely fascinating as his fingers glide over it, making the glow in Sebastian's eyes turn from their previous hunger to something that Blaine has seen so many times but has never been able to pinpoint, never been able to truly understand why he deserves the sweet look.

It's adoration.

Sebastian's hand, itching gently down his jeans, immediately jumps to Blaine's waist, running up and down to feel the gentle curve of his body. It catches on the slick, yellow material, but he keeps at it, not able to take his eyes off the beautiful boy in front of him.

The sweeping, brushing eyelashes; the glowing, gorgeous, hazel eyes; the swift dip of a nose; the twisting and turning hair; the tiny, pleasant little hands; the graceful ankles; the tanned, strong forearms; the red red red lips.

He pulls him, drags him, drugs him towards his own body, making the smaller boy flush and smile and lean in expectantly. They stare at one another,Blainewith those bashful, waiting eyes, Sebastian and his hopeful, enamored gaze.

They lean in at the same time, smiles evident even from where the smaller boy's father is still standing at the window – trying so hard to understand the beauty before his eyes. The boys breathe in one last breath before their world changes.

They close their eyes.

Their lips meet.

The world keeps turning.


	2. An Unlikely Couple

Also written for "seblaine week", the prompt being that of an Alternative Universe.

_Note: I tried to keep this as far away from "Go Your Own Way" as I could, but if there are parallels (in Blaine's badboy-esque bit), know that I did not intend for them._

You flick your tongue ring obscenely against your front row of pearly whites, drawing quick attention to the students around you. You don't care. You don't even glance away.

Your eyes have been drawn to the neck of the boy in front of you, his lettermen jacket shrugging lightly over his slight frame, the classic black Converse peeking out from under his legs and into your line of sight.

You click the ring again. He twitches slightly but continues reading the passage on the American Revolution.

You pass a hand through those thick curls that always get you dirty looks from your mother - the ones that had been perfect for your adorable, private schoolboy image until you grew up and decided you utterly did not give a fuck about anything.

Click. Twitch. Click. He scratches the back of his head with his hand, shifting through the brown strands. Click.

You feel the smirk tugging against your lips as you lean forward, stretching your short legs out, donned in dark black skin tight can't breathe tug tug tug just how he likes it.

Your eyes shift to the clock on the left side of the room, past the balding woman behind the desk who seems to have fallen asleep. The three eyebrow rings over the hazel orb that is surrounded by bruised skin flings up causually as you notice the time - or rather lack of time - left in the class.

Three minutes til the weekend. Three minutes til freedom.

Three minutes til _Sebastian_.

Sebastian, who's got the lacrosse muscles and the fancy car and the big house with a pool and the arrogant smirk and the blue tinged fingers (from the 99 cent slushies) and the tongue like a whore and the obsession with the spacer in your ear.

You think back to an hour before, halfway through lunch, when he had you up against the brick wall by the bleachers, biting that same ear. He managed to coax the joint out of your hands -_those things are bad for you, you know_- and get you the hardest boner -_was just tossing a ball around with the boys so I might be a bit sweaty_- in a minute, a new record.

The bell rings. The old woman at the front wakes up with a start. The asshole student body vice president next to you gets up immediately, shooting you a dirty look.

You stand quietly, knocking the textbook you hadn't peeked at once all class into your dirty, dark bag, and shrugging your beat up leather jacket over your shoulder - black boots kicking your chair in.

You circle to where Sebastian is packing up his shoulder slung backpack, sliding it quickly over the red jacket as he nodded at another jock leaving the classroom. He pockets the horribly bitten pen he'd been writing with (and god, do you know how much he likes to bite things) and looks up at you with a grin, green eyes sparkling with all kinds of mischief.

He reaches his hand out to flick your nose and you wrinkle it slightly as you narrow your eyes. He just laughs at that, "Do you ever stop it with your tongue?"

"You love my tongue."

"Yes, but it makes quite a racket. I was trying to learn about Madison and tea taxes and-"

"Yours or mine tonight?" You have subconsciously stepped closer to him, something that happens quite a lot when you're within a three feet radius of the taller boy. You hate it hate it hate it, how much you like looking up at him, how much you enjoy how his eyes sweep over your tight red shirt, the dark tattoos that contrast against the white of your forearms.

"I was thinking Wendy's." At your curious eyebrow lift he elaborates, eyes darkening as he stares at the green hoop pierced in the skin, "after the movie of course.."

"No. No, I'm not going to go see The Muppets. That isn't happening."

Sebastian laughs at your expression, you know how you must look - petulant, with that look he calls the 'no-nonsense' look - but you don't care.

"Jason Segel though," Sebastian is reaching out for your hand, and you try to keep it away from his larger one, try to keep your bloodied knuckles from grazing the smooth skin over his, but he catches it - smiling in triumph.

His thumb presses down lightly over said scraped knuckles but - and this is probably your favourite thing about him - he doesn't say anything, only pulling you out of the classroom by your hand, shooting the teacher a wink as he tugs you out the door.

"Either the Muppets or we go to that Italian place in Westerville," he says, swinging your hands as you walk together down the hallway.

"Either a blow job in the theater or sex in your backseat, you mean." you remind him with a smirk that he returns. You squeeze his hand - a quick squeeze from him follows almost instantly - and deftly pull a cigarette out with your other, slipping it out of the carton and into your lips.

He laughs at it, and shakes his head, not bothering with the usual speech he gives as he drags you to his locker - already started on a story of his biology class and how utterly stupid everyone in it was (excluding himself of course).

You know the two of you must look downright bizarre - the sharpness of you, the brightness of him - his quick charm, your simple snark - dangerous eyes bruised eyes fights smokes joints hatred, smiles athletics sarcasm quick witted smart popular.

You know they shouldn't accept you but at this point it really doesn't matter anyway. You honestly completely and truly do not give a flying leaping jumping fuck what they think.

You clutch his hand tighter as you pass through the front doors.


End file.
